


Point to Point

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 08:59:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair starts paying attention and the effort pays off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Point to Point

## Point to Point

by Scala

Only mine in my head. And maybe soon on DVD.

Thanks for all the wonderful feedback for my first two stories.   
This one is for Aly, for being an inspiration to so many of us newby writers.   
Feedback is very much appreciated.

This is just a small piece of fluff. 

* * *

Monday was the first day Blair really noticed it. Not for any particular reason, either, which was kind of odd when he thought about it. But on Monday he noticed it, at the same time that he noticed that it had been exactly two years and six days since his warehouse had blown up. Somehow, during that two years, the supposedly inevitable talk about getting his own apartment and rent and other adult considerations, had been almost magically transmuted to: 'It's my turn to cook dinner, Sandburg,' and 'Have you got any more laundry, Chief?'. 

So it was a Monday that he first noticed it - and that was possibly the strangest thing of all - because, well, he was a scientist, an anthropologist even - and despite his living within the culture of one, his sentinel, he still hadn't seen it happening, and therefore, he had absolutely no data to play with, couldn't draw any conclusions, nor form any hypotheses on when or how it had begun. 

He only knew that it had. And Monday's blueberry pancakes and fresh ground coffee were no different to any other days' breakfasts Jim had made for him, so it shouldn't have been any kind of clue. Only, on this Monday, Blair noticed - and that made all the difference. 

By Tuesday, there appeared no further tidbits of data for him to pick up and for several hours, while he was pouring over a report Jim had written, correcting it for spelling, grammar and logic - and yeah, okay, style too - he began trotting down the path of skepticism. After all, he had a fertile imagination, didn't he? 

But then Jim had to go and ruin all that by bringing in lunch for him. Steamed chicken on wheat, with a Greek yogurt and cucumber dressing and a bag of the sweetest cherries he'd ever had the pleasure of eating. They were dumped on the desk before him, not a word mentioned about them, as Jim continued a conversation he was having with H about figure-skating or something. 

_Figure-skating???_

'Hey, come on, Jim,' H spread his hands, 'that triple toe-loop flowing into the axel had to be one of the best combos you've ever seen.' 

Jim shrugged and tilted his head a little, 'Sure, it was good, no arguing that - but then, I saw him at the Europeans and he did it with a quad - and pulled it off. And you can't tell me anybody does a better sit-spin.' 

'Um, Jim?' Blair had to interrupt. It was either that or faint - and a man had to protect his masculinity at some point. 

'Yes, Chief?' 

Which of course, led Blair to the point where he had to concoct an excuse. 'Simon was asking for this report. You want to go over it before you give it to him?' 

'Nah, you go ahead.' And without batting an eye, Jim turned back to H and carried on his conversation. 

Like a robot, Blair took the report into Simon's empty office and dropped it on the broad desk, wondering how he'd got from point A to point C without ever remembering passing through point B. 

* * *

Wednesday was no better, though perhaps a little more subtle. About ten minutes after they got home, Jim deposited a small can of machine oil on the kitchen bench safely apart from where Blair was chopping up bok choy and carrots for his favourite stir fry - which had oddly become one of Jim's favorites as well. 

'What's that?' 

'Machine oil, Chief,' Jim identified in passing, on his way to the bathroom. 

'I knew I lived with a sentinel for a reason,' Blair quipped. 

'Hah, hah, genius,' Jim called back, 'but can you tell me what it's doing out of the tool box?' 

'Playing hooky?' Blair grunted hopefully, dripping some sesame oil into the wok. 

Jim returned with dirty towels in his hands. 'Close - you need to oil that bedroom door of yours.' 

Blair frowned, hoping it didn't mean what he thought it meant. 'I do?' 

Again Jim was already gone, up the stairs to pick up the laundry hamper. 'Every time the draft gets under the door, it rattles enough to make the hinge squeak, and every time that happens, you have a nightmare about David Lash. So just oil the door, Chief, ok?' 

And in a moment of frighteningly crystal clarity, Blair knew that hinge was going to get oiled tonight whether he touched that can or not. 

He couldn't help envying that hinge just a little. 

Thursday had him watching Jim. His every move, almost taking secret notes on everything he said. The worst part about the whole thing was, nobody else seemed to notice a thing. Nobody! Now, how did that happen? 

Or was Blair really imagining it? 

He couldn't sit still when they got home. Jim heated up a leftover bean and lentil casserole Blair had put in the freezer, then settled on the couch to read a book. Blair wasted time in the kitchen, wiping benches, tidying up the fridge, anything to keep him thinking about, or looking at his quiet, peaceful, relaxed partner. 

Twilight Zone. 

That infernal riff kept oozing around in the back of his mind, increasing his agitation to the point where he couldn't stand it any longer. In two strides, he was at the door, jacket in hand. 

'I'm going out for a while, Jim. Don't wait up.' 

* * *

_Don't wait up_

His words echoed inside his empty head as he strode down the street, checking shadows from habit. 

This wasn't what he'd signed on for. No way was this planned. So what was he supposed to do? 

_Was_ he supposed to do anything? 

It was midnight when he carefully unlocked the door. The corner lamp was still on, but Jim wasn't on the couch any more. Blair had barely closed the door when he realised what an ass he'd been. Why did he have to do anything? This wasn't a contest, was it? Wasn't something he could fail. He didn't even have to study for it. 

His feet took him to the middle of the lounge, his gaze going up to the loft. 'Hey, Jim.' 

A brief rustle of crisp cotton, and Jim's head peeked over the railing. 'You okay now?' 

Blair wanted to smile, but there was a single piece missing. Just one. 'Can I ask you something?' 

'Sure.' Casual, unperturbed, as though nothing in the world could ruffle those special-forces feathers. 

'We're falling in love here, aren't we, Jim?' 

For a moment, there was nothing. No answer, no flicker of eyelids - nothing. Then abruptly, Jim's face creased into a classic Ellison shit-eating grin. 

'Get some sleep, Sandburg.' 

Another rustle of cotton and Jim disappeared into the darkness above. A little dazed, Blair turned for the bathroom, dropping his jacket, and kicking off his shoes as he went. He did everything in the dark. There was something way too comforting about that darkness, like a soft shadow he could wrap himself up in. 

How in hell could he have missed point B? 

How come he'd missed it when Jim had virtually taken up residence in it? When his own feelings were lurching towards it with a passion that had simply sewn itself into the fabric of his daily life. 

Some observer! 

With his face tingling from a splash of cold water, his teeth fresh and pepperminty, he headed for bed, pulling off his shirt as he turned into his room. As it cleared his head however, he was caught by a pair of strong arms and pulled close to a hot, half-naked body. 

He blinked up into Jim's eyes. 

'Hey, Chief.' Jim's voice was warm, rich and lightly scented. Even so, there was a breath of hesitation there. 

Blair just shook his head. There was a time for talking, for reassurances and for advice. There was a place for working through things, step by step. 

This wasn't one of those times. 

With fingers still cool and fresh from the water, Blair caught hold of Jim's face, touching where he'd never dared before, feeling where he'd never dared before. 

'Jim, I just want you to know,' he rose onto his toes a little, as Jim brought his body closer, 'I'm not an easy lay.' 

Without pausing, Jim swooped down into the almost-kiss, breathing in Blair's breath, giving his own in return, their lips a millimeter apart. 'Sandburg, nothing about you is easy.' And with that, he joined them, tasting, and feeling and making Blair tremble in a way he'd only ever read about. When Jim's lips finally left his and trailed along his jaw, up to his earlobe, he whispered, 'If I'd wanted easy, I wouldn't have fallen in love with you.' 

'Oh god,' Blair breathed. 

'You're not easy, Chief, you're hard. From start to finish, top to . . . bottom.' 

Blair laughed, slow and deep. He dragged Jim backwards, towards the bed. 'Whatever you say, Jim. Just promise me you'll go through point B again. For me, nice and slow?' 

'Point B?' Jim paused in his meal for a fraction of a second. Then, his voice smiling, he murmured, 'Okay, once more - just for you. But pay attention, ok?' 

'Oh, yeah. Paying attentioffffmmm-' 

~Finis 

* * *

End Point to Point by Scala: scala8925@yahoo.com

Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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